Arrogance

by FranG

My! How far you have progressed in your arrogance. You would have
the entire universe feign you homage, instead of you giving it thanks.
You are bad, sir; and mad out of your mind.
The illustrious glow from Polaris shines so brightly, but where were you when she was being wired?
And of the belt so tightly wrapped around Orion’s waste, where were you when the notch was being fastened?
Had you been there, the entire job may have been botched.
You’re the meanest, to think you can lay claim to the beauty of Venus;
because your hands are not responsible for her fair complexion and ripe roundness.
But seems as it may appear, your sphere is confined to the bounds of the Earth.
How can you claim the fourth corner of a sphere? but yet still you try to do it.
But I must warn ya, you can’t even see the seven seas, but lo! They can sea you just fine.
Your vain wisdom you trust in, but for the moment trust in mine.
Your hollow swallow is puny, while their rough gulps are colossal.
On land, your dams will be damned, and at sea your ships reduced to chips; know not that they’re the boss of ya?
You say you have the divine right to be king, well I say shut up you damn fool! You know not what tomorrow will bring.
For off your stool you will fall, when the Earth decides to hiccup, like a cripple trying to climb a ladder; you’ve fallen and can you get up?
But you’ll be picked up and tossed like a gymnast, when she asks if you’re okay; for her breath rotates in swift spirals that circle the globe.
By the way, when she becomes sick of you, her vomit will turn your skin as black as coal; resembling an Egyptian mummy.
Yea, you’re just a mummy, but she is the Mommy, and at whenever her whim , you’ll be smacked quite bold.
You can herd animals into your homestead all you like, but they’re free to leave whenever they desire; the bird animals can fly away.
But instead you construct fences and cages, because they won’t hearken to your commands.
But what can assuage your arrogance? Did you ever ask from where the raw materials came that comprise your fence?
You couldn’t be that dense, but still you forever brag, whenever venison decorates your dinner table.
But you used a javelin for the kill.
And who is the one of you that will look the game in its eye while with your hands you wrestle it down?
Don’t get mad again, when I ask of where the raw materials came for your tools? Or the roof that houses you in?
And whose wife is she really? Do you think that you really own your children?
You cry to them that they will obey because you provide for them.
Were you for-real when you boasted such?
Whatever you “own,” you stole from the Earth, but your theft is only operable for a season.
Maybe your soul should have you rethinking terminologies, and how you just float words out into the air.
“Private Property,” laugh out loud, man are you serious?
Your logical sermonologies are too much for the oblique to handle.
You don’t even own yourself, let alone anything else, for your “person” is merely a mask for a character in a play.
And the play is even known yourself to be called “life,” of which the rules you did not decree.
You neither “own” the play, nor its props and characters; not even the very face of thee.
When you get a chance, gaze into the sea to see what it has to show you.
You will see how age advanced so effortlessly across your nose and cheeks.
You’re a temporal being, and completely “owned” by Father Time; he’s the imperial being, and you the lowly subject.
You’re no magician, and you cannot create for your “person” a wrinkle-free face and younger legs.
The true magician creates something from nothing, and thus “owns” his creation; everyone else is a charlatan, and a manipulator of their own heads.
So my fellow man, take a permanent vacation from the grandiose, and seek to play the part of humility in this play called “life;”
for it is the part that defines you best, and tailor-made for you, the role is just right.

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